His Second Heart
The day I was finally welcomed back into the Salazar family, Nathaniel Salazar—the frail adopted son they'd raised in my place—died from heart failure.
My sister, Alyssa, shaved her head and withdrew from the world, claiming she wanted to soothe Nathaniel's restless soul.
My parents had lost two children in a single night, and they blamed me for both.
To make amends, they decided my heart would one day be donated to a distant young relative suffering from the same condition. After all, that little boy had been Nathaniel's favorite person in the world.
From that day on, I was forbidden from drinking, smoking, staying up late, or doing anything that might damage my health.
They called it redemption for my brother.
For ten years, I lived like a spare part, a replacement waiting for the day I would finally be needed.
Then, three days before the transplant surgery, I saw Nathaniel in the hospital. He was alive.
He was curled up against Alyssa's shoulder, acting spoiled while our parents watched with indulgent smiles.
Alyssa gently stroked his hair.
"Don't be scared, Nathaniel. Jordan's healthy heart will be yours soon. After this, you'll never be sick again."
I lowered my eyes to the results of my pre-surgery examination: stage IV stomach cancer with multiple organ failure. Not a single organ was suitable for transplantation.